The Billionaire and the Virgin

  Not this time, he cautioned himself. Instead, he dragged his fingers from the well of her cunt and pulled them forward through her folds, sliding her moisture up to her clit. Then, he framed the hood with his two fingers and began to slowly rub the sides, watching her expression.

  Her mouth parted. Her legs trembled. And she clung to him so hard, as if she worried she might fall off his lap, even though his other hand was anchored at her waist.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured as he continued to rub her, carefully stroking the sides of her clit. “You can let go at any time. I’ve got you.”

  Her hands released from his neck, and Rob was so startled that she dropped backward on the bed despite his supporting arm.

  Well, when he’d said “let go” he hadn’t meant it quite like that.

  But Marjorie wasn’t bothered by the fact that she was now on her back. Instead, the new position allowed her to roll her hips more freely, and she was wiggling and writhing against his hand. And fuck, that was hot. Now that his other arm was free, he reached out and caressed one of her bouncing little tits, rubbing the nipple even as she rode his hand.

  And she cried out. Her hands clenched on his arm, but she didn’t stop him. Her eyes snapped shut and her face contorted. “Rob, I’m—”

  “I know,” he soothed, even as he continued to stroke and pet her body. “I’ve got you.”

  “Oh,” she moaned, and her hips moved fiercely against his hand. He pinched her nipple even as he kept rubbing the two fingers against the sides of her clit. “Oh! Oh!”

  Her hips jerked against him, and then her entire body stiffened, and she was coming, a tremble bursting through her body. He continued to rub, fascinated by the look on her face as she came. She was beautiful. He felt another surge of possessiveness, and it didn’t fade even as she continued to rock her hips slowly against his fingers, coming down from her orgasm. Eventually, she exhaled deeply and put the back of a hand to her forehead.

  “Oh,” she said softly. Her lips curled into a smile.

  God, she was pretty. Reluctantly, he slid his fingers from her wet pussy and resisted the temptation to lick them clean. Didn’t want to shock his virgin any more than she was already shocked. He wiped his hand on the discarded towel, and then moved back into the bed, dragging her against him.

  “I . . . I should go back to my room,” she said in a low voice.

  “Soon,” he told her, tucking her body against his as the smaller spoon. The position allowed him to drape an arm over her waist and rest a hand on one of those cute little titties he was so fond of.

  “All right, soon,” she agreed, and snuggled down next to him. Moments later, he was pretty sure she was asleep. He ran his thumb over one of her nipples thoughtfully, enjoying the automatic shiver that rippled through her even as she slept.

  He’d never had a woman spend the night before. But now that he had Marjorie in his bed, he didn’t want her to leave it anytime soon.

  Maybe ever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marjorie woke up out of a delicious sleep to the feel of something hard prodding against her buttock. She blinked at her surroundings. Big hotel room. Strange art on the walls.

  Warm body against her. One hand squeezing her bare breast. Erection pushing against her backside. Her pajama pants still on her legs, but no top.

  Oh.

  Flashes of last night flooded through her mind and she bit back her gasp. Arousal snaked through her veins, and she recalled vividly what she’d done to him . . . and what he’d done to her. And oh, it was fun. More than fun—amazing. She wanted more.

  But she peered at the alarm clock on the bedside table and sighed. Eight in the morning. She had to be at breakfast with the other bridesmaids in an hour, and then they had one last fitting and a makeup trial run to go through. There was no more time to lie back in bed and cuddle, as tempting as the thought was. So she peeled back the covers and started to edge out of bed.

  “Nope,” Rob said sleepily, and pulled her back against him. “Stay here with me.”

  “I can’t,” she said, though she was smiling as he gave her breast another squeeze. It sent pleasurable shockwaves through her body, a reminder of last night. Gosh, last night had been wonderful. “I just realized, by the way, that you switched rooms.”

  “I did,” he mumbled. “Shower broke in the other.”

  “Oh.”

  “This shower comes with a free back rub if you stay, though,” he told her, giving her breast another squeeze.

  “I wish I could, but I have a full schedule this morning.”

  “Call in sick.” He moved a little closer and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

  “I can’t,” she said again, and when his thumb began to stroke her nipple in teasing circles, she regretfully had to pull his hand off of her. “I owe Brontë being present. This is the last fitting and she’s stressed out of her mind as it is.”

  “So responsible,” he said, kissing her shoulder again. “That’s sexy. Let me know when you’re free?”

  “I will.”

  “Text me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Text me pictures of your pussy?”

  She gasped and slid out of his grip. “No way.”

  He chuckled, eyes closed, and tugged the blankets closer around his body. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “You devil.” She scooped her top up off of the floor and buttoned it, then reluctantly looked back at him. Rob had fallen asleep again, so she tiptoed out of his room and closed the door quietly behind her.

  An hour later, she was showered and changed, and racing down to the reserved dining room so she wouldn’t be late to meet the others. Marjorie arrived with one minute to spare, and the only person waiting in the dining room was Brontë, her hair pulled up in a bun and her eyes bright. She looked happy and relaxed.

  “I’m here,” Marjorie said as she sat down next to Brontë at the empty table. The places were set for five others—the bridesmaids and Violet, who was unofficially included—but no one else had arrived. “Where is everyone?”

  “I think we’re all running a little late this morning. No worries. They’ll be here.”

  “You look relaxed,” Marjorie told Brontë with a smile. “Everything going well?”

  “Nope,” Brontë said. “The cake was flown in from the mainland and crumbled to pieces so Logan’s flying in a new cake chef and paying a ridiculous amount of money because he doesn’t want me to cry. The flowers are the wrong shade of red. Again. And that awful man that’s pissing Logan off is still somewhere on the island.” Her smile widened. “But I’m good because Logan scheduled me a three-hour massage yesterday.”

  “You look good,” Marjorie said. “Very relaxed and happy.”

  “I am happy,” she admitted. “I know as crazy as things get with the wedding, it doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day, I’m with a man who’s bending over backward to try and make me happy. And that’s all I could really ask for, you know?” She leaned forward. “Speaking of happy . . . you look pretty good yourself. Is the mystery man turning out to be everything you’d hoped?”

  “And more,” Marjorie told her, a dreamy smile on her face. “He’s so wonderful. We’re opposites in a lot of ways, but when we’re together . . . we just click, you know? It’s like magic. We’ve been spending every free moment together since we met, and it still doesn’t feel like enough time.”

  “I know that feeling,” Brontë said, and clapped her hands. “I’m so happy for you! This is wonderful. You’re such a lovely woman, Marj. I knew someone would see it eventually!”

  “I feel so lucky,” Marjorie admitted. “I just . . . I don’t know what I’ll do when it’s time to leave.”

  “Is he from Kansas City, then? Do you want to stay instead of taking the job with me? I’d miss you, but I’d understand.”

  “No, I think he’s actually from California.” Marjorie unrolled her cloth napkin from around her silverware and laid it flat on her
lap. “I still want to go to New York with you. That hasn’t changed. And we . . . haven’t really talked about what happens later. We’re still enjoying each day.” Though two days from now, that would have to change. A twinge of unhappiness marred Marjorie’s cheery mood. “I’ll have to broach the topic at some point, I guess.”

  “Oh!” Brontë said, snapping her fingers. A smile lit up her face. “Logan had a last-minute cancellation for dinner tonight. We should go out on a double date. You bring your guy, and Logan and I will join you. It’d be lovely. I’m dying to meet this guy and see you two together.”

  “I’d love to,” Marjorie said, pleasure flushing through her at the thought of introducing handsome, quick-witted Rob to her friends. “I think you’ll really like him. He’s a bit of a cusser—”

  “So is Logan,” Brontë interjected with a grin.

  “—but underneath, he’s really sweet and kind.”

  “Then I absolutely cannot wait to meet him,” Brontë said, reaching over and giving Marjorie’s hand a happy squeeze. “Tonight should be so much fun.”

  It really would. Marjorie couldn’t wait to text Rob and surprise him with the plans. He knew she was here for the wedding—wouldn’t it be fun to show him off to the bride and groom, who were the reason why she was here on vacation?

  “Logan has dinner reservations for four at a black-tie restaurant,” Brontë said. “The other couple cancelled but you can join us and it’ll be an even better evening!”

  And maybe tonight she could ask Rob what he thought about the future. Their future. Marjorie couldn’t stop smiling at the thought.

  ***

  Rob straightened his tie, then removed it at the last minute. Black-tie or not, they’d simply have to make do without him having neckwear. He had a nice little hickey on his neck thanks to Marjorie, and he wanted to show it to the world. So, he’d wear a collared shirt and cufflinks, and a jacket, but that was the extent of it.

  He whistled as he ran a comb through his hair one last time. Funny how spending the night curled up against a woman could put him in such a good mood. His insomnia—normally so prevalent—had utterly vanished, and he’d slept like the dead. His dick hadn’t even touched pussy and he still felt sated and replete. It was a good feeling.

  It was a feeling he wanted more of, and he wanted more Marjorie.

  Maybe she could put off being Brontë’s assistant for a while. He’d bring it up to her tonight, hopefully after her hand was wrapped around his cock. Maybe she’d come out to California with him for a bit so they could fuck like bunnies and get it out of their systems. Then when they were both tired of each other, they could go on with their lives.

  Even as he said it to himself, he frowned. Marjorie wasn’t the type to just turn a blind eye to the fact that his business ran off of tits and ass. Her friends were already on the lookout for him, thinking he was determined to ruin the wedding. He wasn’t, not after spending time with Marjorie.

  In fact, he’d called Smith (the only competent assistant he had) this morning and told her to pass along the message to the Tits crew that they were to make themselves scarce for the next while. He didn’t want Marjorie upset over anything that might happen with the wedding. Not because he cared about her friends, but because he cared about her.

  He checked his phone for new messages. Nothing beyond her earlier one of Meet me in the lobby for dinner tonight. Black tie. I have a nice surprise for you. She’d even thrown in a smiley face at the end, so he knew she was excited. And he couldn’t wait to see her again. He’d worked for most of the day but it still felt like forever since he’d last touched her.

  Idly, he wondered what the surprise was. Were they going somewhere new? Was she going to jump him as soon as he got off the elevator? Was she not wearing panties under her dress? Whatever it was, he hoped she was wearing the heels he’d gotten her—he wanted to see those on her while he undressed her, wanted them wrapped around his back while he fucked the hell out of her.

  Picturing Marjorie in nothing but those shoes made his dick hard, and he adjusted himself before stepping out of his room. A quick trip in the elevator led him down to the lobby, and he scanned the room for an impossibly tall blonde.

  Sure enough, there she was, beautiful enough to make his heart skip a beat. Her blonde waves cascaded over her shoulders, teased into curls. Her dress was plain black, her long, luscious legs bare, and he saw those sparkly stilettos adorning her gorgeous feet. She looked incredible.

  He started to walk toward her, and stopped.

  She was standing next to Logan Hawkings and his fiancée. They were talking quietly, and Logan’s fiancée had her arm linked in his. Her dress was a sparkly red, and Logan wore a dark suit.

  They were dressed for a fancy dinner.

  He was going to a fancy dinner with Marjorie . . . who had a surprise for him.

  Shit.

  Shit shit shit.

  Rob turned around and headed back to the elevator before anyone could spot him. He sprinted, barely catching the doors as they began to close again, which earned him a few irritated looks from the others on the elevator. He didn’t care. His brow had broken out into a cold sweat, and he punched the number to his floor again, and then paused.

  Shit. If he went back to his room, Marjorie would just come looking for him there. She’d think he’d forgotten the time or something. And she’d probably have Logan in tow.

  That would be no good, either. Fuck.

  He put his phone to his ear—an awkward feeling, after using his Bluetooth for so long—and called his assistant hotline.

  Smith answered. Thank god. “Yes, sir?”

  “I need a room. Now.”

  “A different one? Let me see what I can manage, sir. Give me five minutes.”

  “No. Now.” He hammered at the door-close button when the elevator opened. Someone shot him a dirty look as he pushed past, but Rob ignored it. “What floor are you on?”

  “I’m on two, sir. You are welcome to come and stay here if you need to—”

  “Be right there.” He hit the button for two and tapped his foot impatiently. Even as he did, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  Where are you? Marjorie sent. Did you get lost?

  Christ. She’d sent another smiley face at the end of her sentence. He felt like such a dick. The door opened to floor two and he hesitated.

  He could go downstairs and admit everything to Marjorie in front of Logan’s judging face. Tell her that he was the jerk behind Tits or GTFO and she’d probably hate everything he was ever associated with, and know that her friends loathed him because they thought he was a scummy businessman. Which he kinda was. And then he could watch her expressive eyes fill with tears and he’d ruin the rest of the time she had at her best friend’s wedding.

  Or he could be a dick tonight and pretend sickness. Or that business came up. Something. She would be hurt, but he’d make it up to her with a little smooth talking, a little romance, and then they could cuddle their way back into a good mood.

  Immediately, he knew which one he was going to pick. Rob stepped off the elevator, paused, and texted.

  Something came up with work. Sorry.

  ***

  “I don’t understand,” Marjorie said, her brows furrowing. “I talked with him earlier today and he said he was looking forward to dinner.” Maybe if she dated more, she’d be used to cancellations and blow-offs. This one felt like it was ripping a hole in her heart, though, and she didn’t know what to do.

  His message wasn’t even personal. It was cold, succinct. His normal messages were filled with crass flirting and attempts to make her blush. This . . . this wasn’t even trying.

  “I wonder if I said something to make him upset?”

  “I’m sure that’s not it,” Brontë exclaimed. “You’re looking for problems that aren’t there, Marj. I bet he just had a meeting come up that he couldn’t miss. Logan knows how that is, isn’t that right?” She looked up at her handsome fiancé with a
n adoring expression.

  Marjorie’s heart hurt all over again. “But if it’s work, he didn’t say when he was going to get out of there.” And Rob had told her that work was taking a backseat this week so he could spend more time with her. Hadn’t he said his assistant had it handled? “I don’t understand.”

  Oh, no . . . what if it was something she’d said or done last night? What if she’d somehow come across as terribly unsexy and he’d woken up this morning and realized he didn’t want to be with her? She felt stricken at the thought.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Brontë reiterated. “I can tell from the look on your face that you’re worried, but these things happen all the time.”

  “What business did you say he was in?” Logan asked, his mouth a firm line.

  Marjorie felt a twinge of nervousness, as if her aborted date with Rob had somehow messed up Logan’s evening as well. “I uh . . . well, he said business. I never really pried too much because Rob said he was on vacation.”

  Logan’s cool gaze continued to assess her. “I see.”

  “M-maybe I should have asked him?” Gosh, how was Brontë marrying this icy man? He was scaring the pants off of her tonight. It was odd how he could be so very warm to his fiancée and so controlled to the rest of the world. “It just never really came up. I—”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Logan said, cutting her off. “And I have an idea,” he said, turning to Brontë. “Since it’s both of you ladies, why don’t you see if Violet and Maylee are free tonight and take them with you to the restaurant? I’m sure they’d love to join you. You know they probably feel as if Gretchen is monopolizing your time.”

  “Oh, no. Do you think so?” Brontë looked concerned. “They’re all my friends. I don’t want anyone to feel left out.”

  “I’m sure they’re not,” Marjorie reassured her, pushing back her own concerns. “And we don’t have to make it a girls’ night out just because my date canceled. It’s really not necessary.”

  “I insist,” Logan said, and he gave them both a smile that was both charming and predatory at once. “I have unfinished business to attend to myself, and should probably beg off.” He leaned in and whispered into Brontë’s ear for a long moment.